


just you and me (and the end of the world)

by discardable



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Bad End AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discardable/pseuds/discardable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinjiro skips graduation and hangs out with a cute girl. Unfortunately, the apocalypse is nigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just you and me (and the end of the world)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosodiical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/gifts).



> Dear prosodiical,
> 
> Bad end AU? _Bad end AU._ I love these two and they lend themselves really well to shenanigans, but I wanted to try something a little different. It's not written from any of your possible prompts, but hopefully you like it!

On the third day after he wakes, Shinjiro gets the all-clear from the doctors. Technically speaking, Akihiko tells him, he shouldn’t be discharged, but they can’t seem to find much actually wrong with him besides the obvious. (It helps that the hospital is owned by the Kirijo Group, and its heiress can be quite persuasive indeed.) The sole condition is that he moves back into Iwatodai Dorm so he can remain under observation, but he’ll gladly take that over the starched white walls of the hospital.

His childhood friend is practically bouncing opposite him in the rear of a sleek black limousine, whole body humming with energy. He’s doing well, at least, and that much is perfectly usual. He wonders if Akihiko cried after the accident.

“Graduation’s tomorrow,” Aki informs him, trying and failing to be casual about it. “Although Mitsuru says she won’t make you come to the ceremony.”

Thank god one of his friends has something resembling emotional intelligence, because Shinjiro is deeply unsure how to feel about the prospect. He won’t be graduating, of course, since his attendance record was shocking even before the accident and his grades weren’t much better. Truth be told, he hasn’t even begun to think about his plans beyond this month, although odds are he’ll try and give school another shot. It’s strange, though, because he can’t for the life of him recall why he cut so much class in the first place; surely his past self would’ve realised that repeating twelfth grade was the only possible outcome?

Those thoughts flee from his head once he arrives at the dorm, complete with a surprising amount of fanfare. Mitsuru even looks up from her work with a smile, and for a second she is the girl he befriended in middle school and not the scion of Japan’s most powerful conglomerate. One or two of the residents are out, but in the meantime, he has a lot of introductions to get through. There’s Iori and Takeba, both of whom he vaguely remembers running into once or twice, and their quieter shadow Yamagishi. Also, inexplicably, an elementary schooler named Amada, who greets him politely but freezes up soon after.

There’s also supposed to be another girl who lives here, blonde and blue-eyed like a foreigner, but nobody ever sees her. Iori swears he ran into her once late at night, sneaking back into the dorm with the pockets of her jacket bulging, but the story doesn’t seem to hold much water. Akihiko sounds sceptical, Mitsuru sounds perturbed, and Takeba just calls him an idiot.

The conversation is cut short by the sound of the door swinging open, and a dog runs up to him, barking happily. He crouches to pet it, noting with some approval that its fur is glossy, its eyes are bright, and it’s clearly being taken good care of. According to the little tag hanging off its collar, its name is Koromaru.

“He likes you,” says an unfamiliar voice, and he looks up –

“Minako Arisato,” the stranger says. She stands a little way off from the rest of the group, back straight and posture absolutely confident. Her ruby eyes are knife-sharp. “You must be Akihiko-senpai’s friend.”

He stands. “Is that what he’s been telling you? _Babysitter_ is more like it.”

“Shinji,” the boy in question says warningly, but the girl just muffles a snort and waves him off.

“Anyway,” he says, and nods in her direction. “Shinjiro Aragaki.”

“Nice to meet you, senpai.”

He replies with a grunt. Although he’s never met Arisato before, he knows her type – bubbly, enthusiastic, everyone’s best friend – and decides it’s not worth getting any closer. She’ll stick with her fellow second-years, he’ll stick with Aki and Mitsuru, and it won’t matter one whit.

There’s probably nothing she can offer him anyway.

*

Shinjiro wakes late the next morning to find everyone already gone. Even Koromaru is off somewhere or other, and for a long bitter moment he finds himself jealous of the freedom allowed to a dog.

It’s too nice a day to be shut up in his room, so he compromises by migrating to the lounge and opening all the windows. Parking himself on a couch, he turns on the television and flicks through channels until he finds a cooking show. Uncharacteristically, though, he finds it almost impossible to pay attention, and quickly winds up dozing off.

He only stirs much later when a key clicks in the lock and the front door swings open. He checks his watch, frowning; it’s far too early for anyone to be back, so what could someone plausibly be doing here?

“Oh,” says Arisato, looking particularly shameless. “Hello.”

He gapes, sleep-fogged mind struggling to work out why her appearance sets every nerve in his body to jangling. Eventually, he settles on “Shouldn’t you be at graduation?”

“I left,” she says, even as she sheds her jacket and bag and flounces into the kitchen. “Wasn’t feeling well.”

“You don’t seem it,” he points out. And then, for good measure, he adds “I would know.”

She shrugs. “I think it was just something about the auditorium. It was stuffy in there, and I could hardly breathe.”

Well, whatever, he’s not going to argue with someone who so clearly knows what she wants. So he stands, stretches, and decides to see what she’s up to.

Having finished her inspection of the fridge, Arisato opens the cupboard and rifles through it, mouth twisting into a pout. “Darn, there’s nothing to eat.”

He peers around her, frowning a little when he sees the worrying truth of that statement; there’s nothing but a pile of instant ramen in one corner, on top of which sits a paper sign announcing PROPERTY OF JUNPEI IORI. “Does anyone in this dorm cook?” he asks.

“Just me,” she says, “and I haven’t really been feeling up to it lately.”

“So you _are_ sick.”

“Sort of.” She purses her lips. “This is gonna sound weird, but it’s not really a physical thing. I just… don’t feel at ease, somehow.”

Shinjiro makes a noncommittal sound, but she’s already swept back into the common room. By the time he arrives, she’s already thrown her jacket back on and is looking at him expectantly.

“I’m going to get lunch. Coming, senpai?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, even as it occurs to him that he’s starving. “I’m not supposed to leave the dorm. Kirijo’s orders.”

“I’ll supervise,” she says guilelessly, eyes wide. “I’m responsible, I promise, and we’ll be back before anyone even knows we’re gone.”

He’s not sure if he believes her, but the idea is increasingly tempting. It suddenly feels like years rather than months since he’s been out and about on his own two feet – and besides, food is a legitimate reason. Not even Mitsuru would be able to fault him for trying to keep himself alive.

“Yeah, alright,” he says begrudgingly, and throws on the old peacoat resting over one arm of the sofa. It’s heavier than he remembers, but he chalks it up to not having worn the thing in months. “But it’s your fault if I collapse.”

The moon is out today, pallid against the blue sky, and they make good time into the city. She talks at him the whole way, and he does his best to keep up. Most people would usually give up on making conversation after the first couple of non-answers, but Arisato barrels merrily on regardless of how much he deflects. Is she stupid, or just being sociable, or does she really think there’s something in him worth digging for? He’s lost so much of himself to the coma that he can barely remember who he used to be; there’s not much worthwhile left, but it’d be too much effort to talk her out of it.

The strip mall is deserted and looks nothing like he remembers, graffiti staining the concrete and walls papered over with fliers. He can’t quite stop his lip from curling at the sight. “What happened here?”

“Some kind of death cult,” she says, voice subdued. “I don’t know the details, but they’ve gotten really big lately. It’s kind of scary.”

Privately he agrees, but it won’t do much good to dwell on something like that. “So where did you wanna eat?”

“How about Wild Duck? I could definitely go for a burger.”

“Don’t put that crap in your body,” he says vehemently. “Let’s go to Hagakure instead.”

“I thought you were gonna let me choose.”

“Yeah, well, it’s about standards.”

She snickers, not even flinching when he levels his most unimpressed look her way. “It’s just funny that a guy like you cares so much about nutrition,” she explains, lips twitching. “Although it explains why you’re friends with Akihiko-senpai.”

“If you think I approve of all that _protein_ ,” Shinjiro begins hotly, and cuts himself off when she starts to laugh. It lights up her face, the sound high and free, and he’s captivated enough that he forgets to be angry. 

“I’m sorry,” she manages at last. “You just sounded so serious.”

He knows he’s being forward, but he can’t stop himself. “Don’t be. You look best when you laugh.”

“Is that so?” she murmurs, sounding thoughtful, but then her stomach rumbles and the moment passes.

Hagakure is the same as ever, although it’s unusually empty for lunchtime on a weekday. They both order the special and the server bustles away, glad for something to do.

“So,” says Arisato, and raises a hand to brush her fringe out of her face. The sleeve of her uniform jacket slides back, revealing a leather watch around her wrist. It looks familiar somehow, like he saw it in a shop window once, but it vanishes under the fabric as quickly as it appeared and he loses the chance to ask. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Yeah,” he allows. “Used to, anyway.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “The accident.”

“Yeah.” He barely remembers the event itself, and everything he knows about it comes from what Akihiko and Mitsuru managed to piece together; apparently he’d gotten caught up with the wrong crowd, and he’d wound up – in a fight? Hit by a car? No matter which it was, he doesn’t feel like continuing down this line of thought. “Sorry, but d’you mind if we talk about something else?”

The food arrives before she can answer, saving him from any more awkward conversations. He quickly discovers that Arisato, despite her size, can put away ramen like a demon, and she’s finished her bowl before he even gets halfway.

“I win,” she announces, setting her chopsticks aside with a clink.

“Only because you inhaled it,” he gripes, “and besides, I didn’t know it was a contest.”

The lights flicker, and she pauses with her mouth still framing a retort. Then they flicker once more, and the electricity dies with a low, drawn-out hum.

“Huh?” comes the server’s voice. “Did something –” He’s cut off by a grotesque crack which seems to rend the air itself, and then he starts to scream.

Arisato’s eyes are wide, but the fear doesn’t paralyse her and she nearly knocks the table over in her rush to help. It’s too late, though, and they arrive to find a large black coffin behind the counter and no sign of anyone else.

She swallows. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he says, “but don’t touch it. That thing’s probably dangerous.”

“Okay,” she says, and backs away from it. She takes a deep breath. “Okay, what now? Obviously we can’t stay here, because whatever got him might get us too.”

“And leaving will be better?”

“Probably not,” she admits, “but at least we’ll know what’s going on.” 

They hurry outside to find the city transformed. The sky is an eerie green, which turns the buildings around them cold and alien; they might as well be on the dark side of the moon, for as unfamiliar as everything feels. Plus it’s suddenly freezing, especially for March, and he huddles deeper into his coat.

“Senpai,” she ventures, “is it just me, or is that our school?” 

He follows the line of her arm to where she’s pointing, but he hardly needs the help. The landscape is dominated by a huge tower hundreds of storeys high, and he has to crane his neck to see the top. Something huge and shadowy unfolds atop it, blocking out the moon, and then Shinjiro realises the dark shapes are _wings_.

Beside him, Arisato checks her phone and lets out a hiss. “No signal. I hope the others are alright.”

The macabre scene from the restaurant replays on the inside of his eyelids, and he forces himself to think straight. “You think they turned into those coffins too?”

“Beats me,” she says, scowling in thought. “But why didn’t _we_?”

“No clue. Anyway, I’m more worried about what we’re gonna do now.”

“Well, we could –”

She’s cut off by a grotesque squelching sound, and his blood runs cold. It comes again, and then a shadowy thing oozes around a corner. A mask surfaces from the black mass, held aloft by a newly formed arm, and rotates to face them.

“The hell?” Shinjiro mutters.

It slithers purposefully in their direction, and then it dawns on him that they have no weapons and might just be in trouble. Desperately, he rummages in the pockets of his coat, and his fingers brush cold metal. He pulls out something slim and silver, and – 

“Is that a _gun_?”

While he’s goggling at it, she swoops in and snatches it clean away from his loose fingers. He lunges, but she’s already sidestepped away and clutching the thing like a lifeline.

“At least shoot it!” he calls, but her eyes are very distant. She raises the gun, hands barely trembling, and for a second he wonders if they’re doomed. Then her mouth moves silently, shaping something incoherent, and she points it squarely between her eyes.

Time slows, and he’s utterly transfixed. The sound of the trigger is inaudible, but he thinks he can hear something shatter. Improbably, she doesn’t fall; instead a huge dark shape blossoms out from her, surging forward to crash into the shadow. Its mouth gapes ominously as it tears into the thing before it – then it vanishes as fast as it came.

“Thanatos,” Arisato says faintly, as if that explains anything. Her knuckles are white against the metal.

“What the hell?” he manages at last, and waves his hands in a desperate attempt to corral his thoughts. “Please tell me what just happened.” 

“I don’t know!” She’s almost hysterical, but it isn’t like he’s doing much better. “I just… something in my head was telling me to do it, okay?”

“ _Not_ okay,” he growls. “What if it had been loaded?”

“It’s not really a gun, I think.” She tilts the thing, inspecting it, and makes a little sound of satisfaction when she pulls the trigger again with no result. “It just looks like one, see?”

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t, but this is the last damn argument he wants to have right now. Why was he carrying something like that, which could seemingly let a teenage girl summon a monster from inside herself?

“You keep it,” he says.

Arisato frowns. “You had it, so it must be yours.”

“I don’t exactly know how to use it.”

“You think I do?” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “We’ll pass it back and forth, and that’s that.”

Shinjiro accepts it back from her, although begrudgingly. The end of the not-gun is still warm from where it pressed against her skin, and he tries not to think about the strange intimacy of that.

“Besides,” she continues, “you should probably give it a try. You might need to later, and you’ll be screwed if you’re not confident doing it before then.”

Her logic makes sense, even if he’s reluctant to admit it. So Shinjiro turns the weapon over in his hands and lifts it to his temple, feeling thoroughly foolish.

“And I just… shoot?”

“It helps if you say the magic word,” she tells him playfully.

A current runs through him as soon as the metal touches his skin, and every nerve ignites with the sensation. He stares into Arisato’s eyes, and his lips move on their own.

“ _Persona_.”

The world seems to fracture at the edges, and a huge figure astride a horse rises before him. He gapes openly until it dissipates, and he feels so much less for its absence.

“Castor?” he says tentatively, and something swells in his mind. “That’s his name. And… he’s me.”

“More or less,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet, “but let’s get going and we can talk about it on the way. I really don’t want to wait around.”

“Where to?”

She gnaws at her lip. “The more I think about it, the more worried I am about everyone else. I think we’re gonna have to head to the school.”

“How?” he asks, gesturing around them. “It looks like everything electrical has stopped working, so we can’t exactly catch the train or monorail.”

“Then we’ll walk.” There’s something fierce in her eyes, protectiveness masking any shred of fear or doubt he might find there. With a rush, he realises that if he has to follow anyone into hell, he could do far worse than her.

“Fine by me.”

*

The school is curiously devoid of people, although coffins line the entranceway and make the whole place feel like a tomb. Up close, there’s something oddly organic about the tower, and the way it spreads upwards and outwards like one big tree. It’s certainly like no other building he’s ever seen.

The gates are open, and Shinjiro leads the way in. They emerge into a lobby of sorts, dominated by a staircase that leads up to a large ornate door. If this is a place inside Gekkoukan, it’s nowhere he knows of.

“So,” he says, “what now, leader?”

“Very funny.” She pushes past him, deliberately elbowing him in the side. “We look around, I guess. See if we can find any clues.”

It soon becomes apparent that, despite its size, the room is almost entirely empty. The only thing they manage to find is a strange golden device tucked away to one side, which lights up with a green glow when prodded.

“What do you think this does?” Arisato asks.

“Dunno. Could be dangerous.”

“Hm,” she says, and promptly disappears into it.

It takes him the better part of a minute to come around to the fact that he just saw a girl vanish into thin air. Really, this shouldn’t be so unusual after learning that he was capable of summoning part of himself to fight monsters, but disbelief is a strange thing. And yet he knows it’d be irresponsible to leave her alone, not when he doesn’t know what lies beyond.

He stares at the portal, sighs deeply, and follows suit.

The place he ends up is a deep and uniform red, patterned with bizarre technicolour designs. Presumably he’s somewhere inside the tower, but without windows it’s impossible to know what floor he might possibly be on. At least Arisato seems unharmed, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, but that does little to pacify him.

“Are you always this rash?” he bites out. “First you point a gun at your head, and now this? It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“Would you believe me if I said I had a hunch?”

“What, again?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” she says, “but you don’t have to believe me. We’re both here and we’re both alive, so there’s nothing to do now but start searching.”

He just shrugs and trails her into the corridor, unable to shake his discomfort.

There are shadows in here, far stronger than the one Arisato defeated at the mall, so they’re forced to fight defensively as they make their way up. He’s also surprised to discover how much stronger than him she is; Thanatos carries them through the first few battles when Castor is still fairly ineffectual, even though she denies having any combat experience.

Things pick up once they find a weapon, locked inside a chest in a side room: a huge battle-axe, which she insists he take over his protests.

“Wouldn’t you be more use with this?” he says, unable to stop the self-deprecation creeping into his voice.

“Too heavy for me,” she answers lightly. “I’m sure we’ll find something else anyway.”

The axe rests smoothly in his hands, calluses fitting against the haft with solid certainty. Something stirs restlessly in his mind, and he opens his mouth to ask something, but she’s already moving and the thought fizzles and dies.

They climb and climb. There’s still no sign of anyone from their dorm – or anyone, period – and it takes around five more floors before he finally voices his doubts. “I hate to say it, but they must’ve turned into coffins.”

Arisato visibly droops, resting heavily on the hockey stick they managed to unearth. “Yeah, but we have to keep looking. I need to know what’s going on.”

“We didn’t see any of those shadow things attacking the coffins, though,” he hastens to point out. “Which means they’re probably fine.”

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t look reassured.

“Arisato,” he says, as much to convince himself as her, “they’re fine.”

“Minako.”

“Huh?”

“Mi-na-ko,” she repeats. “It’s my name.”

He stares at her. It’s true they only met yesterday, but there’s already a strange camaraderie between them; he supposes it must come from standing together at the end of the world. 

They climb floor after floor, the walls shifting from crimson to white, but progress is slow thanks to the horde of shadow-things. They manage to defeat some and evade the rest, learning each other's strengths as they go, and soon they're fighting with the fluidity of old comrades. But each battle wears them out a little more, and he has to stop and catch his breath and choke down the rattling coughs that threaten to overwhelm him. There’s an oppressive presence coming from above them which drags him down like lead weights; every step takes its toll and he’s nearly gasping from the effort. Worst of all is the fact that there’s no way of knowing if they’re one floor away from the top or one hundred, time and space and distance all blurring into each other.

Minako stops suddenly, and he almost knocks clean into her. “Hang on,” she says, “can you hear that?”

There’s a symphony of clanking, and then something shoots down the nearest flight of stairs and skids to a stop.

It’s a girl, blonde hair a mess and limbs splayed at useless angles. On inspection, though, her body is clearly not human: it’s made of some kind of armour plating assembled with metallic joints, and her fingers have snapped back to reveal tiny barrels.

The robot blinks, bleary eyes focusing on the pair of them. “Minako-san? …Shinjiro-san?”

“Uh,” she answers, “yes?”

“Why are you here?” The words are baffled, but the mechanical girl really just sounds worn-out. “I had thought that your deal with Ryoji –”

The name means nothing to him, and Minako must be in the same boat judging by her expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she offers, “but we came to search for our friends. They were at graduation when this whole thing hit.”

“Whatever ‘this whole thing’ actually is,” Shinjiro contributes.

“She is Nyx,” the robot says weakly. “Her descent was foretold, but not even I could have predicted the extent of her power. She will destroy the city if left unchecked, and I –” The robot tries to push herself up, but her machinery only hums uselessly, clearly at its limit.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he says gruffly, because it’s so much easier to focus on practicalities rather than the magnitude of what she’s saying.

“But I have to defeat Nyx. There is no one else.”

“I’ll go in your place,” Minako says with a determination that he struggles to match. “You can rest now, okay?”

“Unacceptable.” She keeps straining to stand, but has no more success than before. “I have been preparing for months, and Nyx is still too powerful. You would only be going to your death.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “If you’re telling the truth and Port Island really is in danger, I can’t just walk away.”

“Then why did you… no. Speculation serves no purpose.” The robot goes quiet for a long moment, the low hum of her engines the only clue that she’s still with them. When she opens her eyes, they’re filled with so much sorrow that, in that moment, there can be no doubt there’s something human in her.

“Take this,” she says weakly, uncurling her hand from where it rests over her heart. There’s a scratched-up gun there, twin to the one tucked in Shinji’s pocket, which she must have spent the whole battle protecting. She’s clutching it tightly enough that, for a second, he imagines he can see an indent against her palm.

Minako swallows. “Is it yours?”

“No. I don’t require an Evoker.” The robot shifts a little, and her expression flickers with the effort. “I cannot explain the feeling, but… I had hoped you would come.” 

“We’re here,” Shinjiro reassures her, “we’re here,” but her blue eyes have already faded.

Minako crumples, and he barely manages to prop her up. The Evoker which the mechanical girl worked so hard to shield slips through her fingers and clatters to the floor.

She turns her face into his shoulder. “We didn’t even get her name,” she whispers.

He hesitates, then gingerly settles an arm around her. It’s the best comfort he can offer, and he’s acutely aware of how useless it must be. “But she got ours.”

“That’s the worst part. She knew us, and I – why can’t I remember her at all?”

“I don’t know,” he admits helplessly. “Are you alright, though? We don’t have to keep going if you’re not.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am, and we do,” she replies evenly, and stoops to pick up the battered Evoker. Her hands are steady as she tucks it into a pocket. “There’s no time to mourn.”

“We can probably rest for a little,” he wheedles. As strong as she was acting in front of the robot, she’s clearly at least as exhausted as he is, and they’re both running close to empty.

“We shouldn’t,” she says. “I think Nyx is on the next floor up. Can you feel her?”

Shinjiro concentrates, but he barely needs to: the air is thick with enough power to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The entire tower seems to pulse in rhythm with it, wringing the life from him with every breath.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” She pushes herself off his shoulder, moving towards the final staircase with long and even strides. Impulsively, he reaches out and grabs her sleeve, stopping her in her tracks.

“Idiot,” he says. “If you’re going to take on Nyx, at least make sure you’re in decent condition.”

She turns in his grip, but makes no move to shake her arm free. “You’re not going to stop me?”

“I don’t think I could,” he admits drily, “so all I can do is back you up.”

Minako considers him for a second, red eyes guarded. “Five minutes,” she concedes, and promptly sprawls across the floor.

Time passes strangely in this tower, but those three hundred seconds feel like nothing at all, and he’s barely blinked before their rest period is up. His body still feels sluggish and unresponsive, but they can’t afford to wait any longer.

He offers her a shoulder again, which she takes, fatigue winning the battle over pride. Together they hobble over to the staircase, which suddenly seems to stretch up to eternity. Castor is tight under his skin, ready to spring into action one last time.

“Hey,” Minako says, “before we do this. What do you think of our odds?”

There’s no reason to lie to her, not when they’ve already come this far. “They’re pretty damn long.”

A corner of her mouth quirks up. “Yeah, I’m not sure what we’d be able to do that a robot couldn’t.”

“Maybe she managed to weaken it.” _Maybe we’ll both walk away._

“You know,” she says, and the certainty in her tone takes him by surprise. “You don’t have to follow me up there.”

“You think I could live with myself if I sent you off on your own?”

She laughs, and as broken as the sound is, it still takes his breath away. “No, I guess not.”

They fall silent, then, because what is there to say to a perfect stranger at the end of the world? If they’re really going to do this, there’s no point in talking of other things – least of all what might come after.

He takes her in: she looks like some kind of warrior goddess, hair coming loose from its pins and cheeks flushed from exertion. Suddenly, sharply, he’s ashamed of having misjudged her yesterday. But how could he have come to know that she hums under her breath when she’s focused, or that she has a masterful command of tactics, or that she would take a hit for him, except by placing his life in her hands? He still hasn’t unearthed the depth to her, but he’s caught glimpses, and the little he’s seen makes him regret his haste. But the words catch in his throat, the apology dying unvoiced, and he fiddles with his beanie to hide the hesitation in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs at last, when it becomes apparent that he can’t speak himself. “I wish I could’ve gotten to know you better.”

“Yeah,” Shinjiro says thickly. “Me too.”

“But I’m glad I met you. And I’m glad I’m not here alone.”

She holds out a hand and he clasps it. Her palm is warm against his own, and for a dizzying second he lets himself entertain fantasies of what could have been, endless futures reflected in her ruby eyes.

He wonders what it would be like to kiss her.

They break apart after what feels like far too short a time, and the ghost of her skin lingers against his own. Minako squares her shoulders, looking much older than a high schooler has any right to, and smiles sadly at him.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They go together to the end.


End file.
